


a little less conversation

by heartunsettledsoul



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol, College AU, College drinking, anyway, oblivious jug, pining betty, the betty/reggie is extremely extremely brief pls don't kill me, valentine's day au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartunsettledsoul/pseuds/heartunsettledsoul
Summary: The semester passes much in the same way: Betty just cannot bring herself to muster up her Betty Cooper charm and take the leap to ask out Jughead. She’s had what her roommate Veronica calls an embarrassing number of opportunities to do so but she just flounders. It’s not a too flustered to speak situation, nor an issue of timidness; Betty Cooper has a mental block when it comes to Jughead Jones.Each and every time she sees him, something stops her from biting the bullet.or, Betty pines and Jughead has no idea, and Veronica gets fed up over it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveleee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/gifts).



> I've been noodling on this bughead prompt for AGES and I hope it lives up to expectations: pining!betty asks veronica for advice on how to make her move on/seduce jughead and proceeds
> 
> it's (just barely) still Valentine's Day in my timezone, so this is totally in under the wire. many many thanks to jugandbettsdetectiveagency for being my sounding board, though all errors and plotholes are my own in my quest to finish this prior to midnight (if you catch anything, please do let me know because truly, there may be a lot.)
> 
> title from into you by ariana grande

Betty Cooper is a go-getter and nobody who has ever interacted with her can say anything to the contrary. At age six she talked her parents into letting her and her sister pick out a cat from the shelter; in the fourth grade, the math test everyone was unprepared for was rescheduled because of Betty’s compelling argument that they needed more time to learn the lesson; Riverdale High reinstalled the vending machine (with the addition of seltzer and juice among soda options) after the student body rallied and chose her as the spokesperson; her summer internship experience is flawless after working in Mayor McCoy’s office every year since turning fifteen.

She is strong-willed but soft spoken, with a winning smile and endless charm that her older sister continually reminds her could easily be used for evil.

Betty knows this, she tells Polly. There’s just never been a good enough reason to wield her rhetoric as a weapon. There’s also never been an instance where her defining characteristic failed her.

At least there wasn’t until she sat two seats down from the boy wearing a knit hat in the August heat on the first day of English 220: English Literature Survey at the start of Greendale College’s fall semester. The hat with its crown-like hem caught her eye first, an odd choice that she could respect as someone just trying to be themselves in the unsteady new world of college; his cheekbones and quiet chuckle when she dropped the hefty anthology on her desk with a thud were next. What really clinched her crush-at-first-sight, though, was his pause on the building steps to help her when an upperclassman rushing past her sent both her and her armful of books flying.

“Good to know we have a bright future ahead of getting trampled to death on the steps of beautiful, historic buildings in the name of the liberal arts education,” he says wryly. Bodies continue to move around them, classmates pausing to look at the situation in pity but never stopping.

Face aflame, Betty shoves as many things into her bag as quickly as possible. “At least you won’t have to fight the first impression of eating shit on the first day of classes.” She examines the rip in the knee of her favorite jeans sadly.

“It’s only the first class, so I could still join your ranks.” His bright blue eyes sparkle with laughter and it’s the moment that Betty knows the blush spreading down her neck has more to do with him than the shame of tripping down the stairs. “I’m Jughead, by the way,” he says as they step away from the mass of bodies still racing around.

“Betty,” she answers back with a bite of her lip. This is college she tells herself, it’s a chance to be a new person—college Betty could be the type of person who asks a cute guy for his phone number, if she wants to be. But she hesitates, ever wary of looming disaster in her personal life and knowing she’d be too embarrassed to face him in class again if he turns her down.

“Guess I’ll see you in class, Jughead.” It’s a cop out and she tries to still sound flirtatious, but Betty is rewarded with a kind smile and a playful jab called out after her.

“Keep an eye out for those stairs, Betty!”

 

The semester passes much in the same way: Betty just cannot bring herself to muster up her Betty Cooper charm and take the leap to ask out Jughead. She’s had what her roommate Veronica calls an embarrassing number of opportunities to do so but she just flounders. It’s not a _too flustered to speak_ situation, nor an issue of timidness; Betty Cooper has a mental block when it comes to Jughead Jones.

Each and every time she sees him, something stops her from biting the bullet.

She considers joining the literary magazine when, two weeks into the semester, she can see him write his name down on the list at the activities fair. _Not_ for him but for the experience, she tries to rationalize. But ultimately, Betty knows it _would_ be for him and she’s already signed up for the newspaper and dance team tryouts and college is about reinventing yourself—high school Betty would have joined the extra activity, so college Betty does not.  

By the time he’s reviewing submissions for the nonfiction committee, they’re friendly enough to share a table during a particularly crowded Sunday afternoon in the library. Betty stares at his lips as he chews the end of a red pen, and the fact that he’s tearing into the piece he’s reading is almost a turn on.

“Betty,” he groans. “If I have to read one more essay about someone climbing a mountain and finding themselves in the wilderness, _I’m_ going to climb a mountain just so I can fling myself off the top.”

“I’m willing to bet the poetry committee is having a worse time than you.” Her counterargument makes him chuckle and Betty swells with pride. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees a table of thinner, prettier blondes tracking Jughead’s movements as he pulls his hat from his head to run his fingers through his hair and stretch. His worn t-shirt rides up on his stomach and a stubborn lock of hair flops right back over his forehead. Betty is no stranger to appreciating Jughead’s looks, but at least she’s _subtle_ about it. When the blondes giggle and one of the bolder girls wolf-whistles in his direction—earning glares from fellow students—Jughead blinks rapidly, before realizing it was meant for him and going red with an uncomfortable cough.

About ten awkward minutes later, he packs up to go, mumbling something about meeting a friend and Betty’s left with nothing but her meticulous notes on basic economic theory.  

 

Though she enjoys going out on weekends, Betty is nowhere near the party-going expert that Veronica or her teammates are. There are bi-weekly themed Vixens mixers in upperclassman apartments that are “optional,” which Betty enjoys dressing up for and sipping on too-pink punch during, and she’ll put on red lipstick and a short skirt for the occasional dorm party with Veronica or the other dance girls. But otherwise Betty retains much of her high school homebody reputation.

(She doesn’t want to be _too_ reinvented, after all.)

The first time she sees Jughead at a party, Betty is a little tipsy. “Juggie!” she exclaims in what she knows is too high-pitched a voice to even pretend to be cool.

He looks startled, and even a bit wary, but his eyes light up in a way that makes her vodka-soaked heart melt when he sees it’s her.

“Finally,” he mock-cheers. “Someone who knows to use sources other than Wikipedia for a paper.”

On a whim, Betty drops into a bow. “Research nerd at your service.”

Once again, Jughead rewards her with a smile and a genuine laugh. It falls a bit when their corner conversation becomes a circle when some Vixens and a guy from their English class join. Eventually, he slips away and Betty takes the additional vodka shot Veronica hands her in an effort to cheer her up.

When the cute guy from her Econ 101 class—Reggie, she thinks—flirts with her until well after midnight and she feels confident enough to let him kiss off her lipstick, Betty tries to swallow the silent wish that another dark-haired boy had his hands on her waist.  

(He gives her a casual fist bump and a “s’all good” when she turns down his invitation to go home with him. In the dining hall on Sunday morning, Betty is nursing her mug of green tea and sees Jughead settle into a table alone.

The _I missed you leaving last night_ is halfway out of her mouth when Reggie slides into the chair across from Jughead. “There's fresh bacon now, man,” he nods to Jughead. He throws a wink in Betty’s direction that has her neck flushing hot and a tick going in Jughead’s jaw. “Mornin’ Cooper.”

Last night’s college Betty with the short skirt was content with her choice, if a little mournful for not acting sooner, not choosing Jughead. Today’s college Betty doesn’t leave her bed for the rest of the day after that.)   

 

In a flash, with an appropriate number of all-nighters and crying spells under her belt, Betty’s Vixen pom-poms are packed in her gym bag at the end of football season and finals season settles over the campus. Jughead still talks to her in class after the mortifying dining hall encounter, but things are decidedly restrained for the weeks following.

It’s only after a late night in the library, sharing the only free table again and bemoaning _Paradise Lost,_ that their easy camaraderie comes back.

(It’s instantaneous, actually, after she mentions how she’s beginning to dread the Vixen parties and how she’d prefer to hang out with the girls—or Veronica at least—without the hordes of obnoxious guys.)

Betty feels her own tightly coiled jealousy on the handful of occasions Jughead doesn’t brush off one of the many girls that hit on him. One of her sophomore teammates Midge mentions her interest in _that brooding hottie with the hat and suspenders_ in the locker room after practice around Thanksgiving; Betty slams her locker shut so hard that Veronica arches an eyebrow in her direction before suggesting to Midge that several of the football players are just as handsome with half the moodiness.   

It’s not necessarily that she’s upset with Jughead for potentially being interested in someone else, more that Betty is mad at herself for not being the one to bat her eyelashes and playfully nudge his arm.

No, she’s just Betty, the girl in the dance uniform who talks literature with him; she isn’t sexy or skilled or any of the things that the other girls approaching Jughead are, and by the time their English lit final rolls around, she’s made her peace.

They officially trade numbers during the last day of class, Betty seeing an unread message from someone named _Toni_ on his screen as they pack up and getting annoyed at herself for looking in the first place.

“Oh, Betts?”

“Yeah?” The affectionate nickname makes her stomach do a complicated twirl.

“Since I won’t see you during reading week and I never use Facebook, want to trade numbers?” He clears his throat at the same time Betty freezes, scared that any sudden movements would have him changing his mind. “Just for studying I mean,” he tags on quickly. “You know, so we can at least commiserate.”

The twirl turns into a flop. Just Betty the study partner, nothing else.

She opens a new contact and hands her phone to him, wishing her case wasn’t pink with little hearts on it. Betty Cooper, always a little too much _herself_ to become who she wants to be.

They quiz each other on stylistic differences between their various texts, trying to isolate quotes from context and then put them back. Betty is cross-legged in her Vixens sweats, sitting across from Jughead in the library the night before their exam, after incorrectly identifying two quotes in a row, when Polly calls.

“Hi, Pol. Yeah, I’m studying. Yeah I saw you can’t drive me home. Yeah, it’s fine. Yeah, I love you too, Pol.” Polly is coming home to Riverdale late this break, going to spend the holiday season with her college boyfriend for the first time and leaving Betty to ride-share her way back home in three days.

(She’s not bitter. She just misses her sister. And would love to talk to her for more than thirty seconds without hearing about _Jason said this,_ or _Jason bought me this,_ or _I think Jason is trying to figure out my ring size._ )

Though hung up, the phone’s screen is still alight when Betty places it back on the table between her and Jughead. The unread text from him, hours earlier when he said he was leaving the dining hall and on his way, can still be seen. Just as visible is the small edit Betty had made to his contact info after he’d slid her phone back into her palm, fingers brushing lightly: a crown emoji in place of his last name.

Betty sees the exact moment Jughead sees it, squinting and then swallowing hard and then the tips of his ears going red. “Do you know enough Jugheads that you needed to clarify mine with an emoji?”

Her face may be the same shade of dark pink as her backpack. The ground could swallow her whole and Betty would still be too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“No,” she mumbles.

From the corner of her eye, Jughead’s smirk slips as he senses her discomfort. “Here,” he leans forward to pull his own phone from his back pocket and Betty stares pointedly away from the strip of bare skin exposed from the movement. After a few taps, he turns the screen to let her see his addition.

Next to her name, Betty sees two tiny images next to her name on their text thread, the pink bow and a shooting star.

“Do you know enough Bettys to need to clarify it with an emoji?”

His laugh warms her heart in an unbearable fashion. “Nope,” he says. “You’re one of a kind.”

 

On December 29th, Polly returns to Riverdale with a sparkling stone on her ring finger and the glow of a woman whose immediate future is already planned for. For the entire two weeks Betty’s been home, she’s wanted nothing more for her mother to stop asking questions about every single facet of her life at school, but now she would give anything to defend the A-minus on her English lit exam instead of hearing her mother fawn over the prospect of Polly becoming a Blossom.

(When grades came in, Betty had texted Jughead. **_We survived!!_** she sends, no emojis in sight. **_Huzzah,_** Jughead texts back, with nothing more. Her **_Merry Christmas_** goes unanswered. It stings more than it should.)

To keep herself from going insane, Betty spends as much free time talking to Veronica and working out as possible. She has a chance of getting a coveted spot in the front lines of the Vixens, with several upperclassmen girls now abroad, and it feels better to focus on that goal than on Polly’s wedding plans or Jughead’s nonexistent text messages.

She and Veronica video chat nearly every day, drilling the routines they started learning before break and whining their way through ab workouts while top 40 songs blast through the speakers.

“Ugh.” Betty flops, stomach-first, onto her pink quilt and muffles a louder groan into the fabric. “V, if we don’t make front row after all of these workouts, I’m going to go back in time and kill you before we started this ab challenge.”

Veronica answers with an equally exhausted moan. “It’ll be worth it, even if we don’t. That Jughead guy will not be able to resist you if you come back to campus with even _more_ killer legs than before. You may think he doesn’t notice, but he’s not _blind,_ B.”

All Betty can muster up is another muffled noise of exasperation. “I don’t wanna talk about Jug, Veronica.”

“Okay, okay, B. We can talk about his equally attractive roommate. You’re chill if I go for Reggie this semester? He’s on basketball so we’ll see him plenty during winter season.” Veronica waggles her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.  

After repeated assurances that, _yes Veronica it’s fine if you want to sleep with the roommate of the boy I’m in love with who I happened to drunkenly kiss once four months ago at a party because I was sad the boy I like left said party,_ Betty hangs up.

Downstairs, Polly is color-coding a wedding planner and their parents are crunching numbers. Betty opens her text thread with Jughead, stares at the blinking cursor for far too long, ultimately deciding against asking what classes he’s taking next semester, and then flings it into her pillow.

As much as Betty wants to say boys are dumb, her overjoyed sister in the kitchen is stark evidence to the contrary.

 

Spring semester at Greendale College brings blizzards, even pricier textbooks, and two classes with Jughead. Journalism 101 and the second part of the previous semester's English lit survey brings Jughead stomping back into her life with his snow-covered combat boots and now-weather-appropriate headwear.

She bends over her textbook in faux concentration and pretends not to have seen him.

(Betty wishes that college Betty weren’t someone who spent so much energy worrying about a boy. Betty also wishes that college Betty were someone who could channel that energy into _asking out_ that boy. But things are what they are.)

“Betts!” Jughead swings into the seat next to her. “You trying to crib my style?”

He gestures to her own hat, a gift from Polly that she now realizes is in a similar knit and color as his own—the only difference being the fluffy pink bauble adorning hers. All of the jokes she wants to make sound too clingy, too accurate to the actual desperation Betty feels over wanting Jughead to like her.

Swallowing down her nerves, Betty turns to face him. “Couldn’t live without you, I guess.”

If she didn’t know any better, Betty would say that Jughead looks pleasantly surprised by her response.

 

Reggie _is_ on the basketball team, so Veronica is right in that they see a lot more of him. He’s charming in a cocky, self-assured sort of way that meshes beautifully with her headstrong friend. Every time she sees Veronica wink at him from across the gym—the basketball team running laps around the track and the Vixens stretching off on the side—Betty wants to roll her eyes, but she’s happy Veronica has her own love life to focus on now.

(Thankfully the weeks passed since the semi-disastrous party night, and what Betty assumed was some sort of _bro_ conversation between Reggie and Jug, have mellowed things out in that respect. Reggie always greets her with a _sup, Cooper,_ often before diverting all attention to Veronica. And Veronica’s legs in the Vixen warm-up shorts.)

(Betty wishes Jughead frequented the gym, too, so he could see her in hers.)

Basketball season brings a much larger crowd to games, and if Betty thought Vixens practices kicked her ass in the fall, they were nothing compared to the daily practices now.

It pays off, though, when her name is called for the second row in formation the day before the opening game of the season. She contains her excitement until Veronica is called three names after and then they unleash a small increment through a crushing hug mid-practice.

The remainder is expelled through happy shrieks and energy that has Betty practically bouncing through the dining hall lines. To her mild dismay, Reggie is across from Veronica at the table they’d claimed when Betty returns with her tray. She settles in next to him and tries not to pout. He’s a good guy, but Veronica is her closest friend on campus and she wants to celebrate in their own way, preferably without testosterone involved.

“Don’t worry, Cooper, Jug’s grabbing seconds now so you won’t be third-wheeling for much longer.” Betty swallows. That’s—well that’s something, at least. “So second row as freshmen, huh? That’s a huge deal, right?”

A tray of spaghetti, meatballs, and pie smacks down on the table in front of Betty. Jughead smiles at her, but something feels off and he’s more reserved than he had been since they’ve returned to campus. “What’s a huge deal?”

“Betty and I are second row formation for Vixens this semester,” Veronica chirps, beaming in Betty’s direction. “We’re doing halftime at the basketball opener tomorrow, so we expect you there, naturally.”

Jughead raises his eyebrows.

“Come on, Jug,” Betty wheedles.

“Yeah, _Jug,”_ Reggie piles on. “Gotta support your roommate and these lovely ladies!”

Through a mouthful of pasta, Jughead mumbles noncommittally. Betty frowns at him but still can’t help but watch him with an appreciative eye, sneaking glances throughout the dinner. He catches her eye once or twice, his expression softening, and Betty feels the quiet hum of her feelings for him dial up to a dull roar once again.

 

The Greendale Foxes are decent at most sports, but are _spectacular_ at basketball, and the gym is packed with students long before tip-off. The Vixens are in their winter uniforms, tight black jazz pants with glittery blue and gold tanks, cheering and yelling from the sidelines.

Despite her determination not to, Betty spends several minutes scanning the crowd for a gray beanie with pointed ends. Jughead rolls in just before the timer starts, leaning against the upper railings above the bleachers, and her heart skips a beat or two. It’s hard to tell from this far away, but she swears that he returns her small smile and wave in kind.

It takes most of the first half to regain her focus after that, hoping against hope that Jughead showed up partially to support his roommate and partially to see her dance. For the ten minutes prior to halftime, Betty and Veronica repeat choreography back and forth to each other, singing the upbeat pop lyrics under their breath.

Doing well at this performance means so much to her; things are feeling like she’s finally gotten her feet underneath her at school between Vixens and getting more copyediting responsibilities at the paper and doing well in her classes, even when spends some of the lectures paying more attention to Jughead’s note-taking habits than her own. This is _good,_ things are good for Betty. She’s coming into her own, unrequited crush or not.

The opening beats of the song echo through the gym and Betty dances her heart out, putting in her all and swinging her hips with confidence until she’s left out of breath when the routine ends and covertly searching the upper levels for the gray hat again.

It’s not there and the disappointment is so swift, so crushing that she feels tears prick at her eyes.

Veronica sees her path of sight, and sees who isn’t there anymore, and rubs at her back. “It’s okay, Betts. He could have just left a minute ago.”

Even her inner optimist is too upset to rise to the occasion. “You know he didn’t,” Betty sighs.

When the game ends—Foxes defeating the Centreville University Falcons by twelve points—Betty and Veronica take their time changing in the locker rooms. “B,” Veronica begins. Betty suppresses a sigh, knowing she’s in for a pep talk she doesn’t want to hear. “You have _got_ to ask that boy out, or cut your losses and move on.”

The advice is more pointed than she’s expecting, which throws Betty for a loop. “I… I don’t know, Veronica. Sometimes I think he likes me back but sometimes he’s acting like we’re just two people who have class together. But we get along and he’s a nice friend and I don’t want to blow that up by thoroughly embarrassing myself.”

She busies herself with packing her bag, humming the chorus of the routine’s song, swaying her hips in soft echoes of the full choreography. Veronica starts singing along and then freezes after a particularly sultry line. There’s a glint in her eye that scares Betty.

“We are going to get that boy to acknowledge that he has a thing for you, Betty. I have a plan.”

Betty looks at her friend, confusion on her face.

“Keep working on those hips swings, girl. The Vixens' Valentine's Day mixer is in two weeks and you need a date, so we’re gonna seduce you a moody writer boy.”   


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember how I'd intended to have both parts for valentine's? and then I just barely finished part one for valentine's? and now it's two months later? good times. 
> 
> a huge thank you to my beta/cheerleaders iconic-ponytail and canariesrise. y'all are the bomb.

As it turns out, Veronica’s master plan of seduction is not as elaborate as Betty assumed it would be from the conniving look her friend had worn when announcing it. In fact, it was beautiful in its simplicity.

“You just need to look Vixen-hot all the time,” Veronica tells her. “You’re a smokeshow and he’ll have to admit he’s attracted to you if you ramp it up every day.”

Veronica says it to Betty like it’s easy because, for her, it is; Veronica is dressed to the nines every day and wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that doesn’t perfectly flatter her figure or show off her physique. Betty always looks presentable too, but it’s in a different way, focusing on clothes that she’s comfortable in and make her look nice. She has never felt the need to go beyond her traditional jeans or a skirt and cute top and a sweater pattern on a regular basis, only ever branching out once college necessitated some shorter skirts and lower cut shirts. There’s nothing wrong with, as Veronica calls it, _flaunting her_ **_ass_** _ets,_ but it just isn’t Betty. Yes, she loves feeling confident and a little sexy when she looks in the mirror—one of the many reasons she enjoys the warm weather Vixen uniforms of tiny cheer skirts with spandex shorts—but she’s never felt inclined to do so on purpose, to use to her advantage.

Her roommate has no such qualms and if anything Betty respects her for it more.

That does not, however, mean Betty wants to start wearing tight miniskirts to two of her classes. Even if Veronica hides all her jeans on Monday morning in an effort to do so.

Betty meets her halfway by selecting a deep v-neck shirt that she might normally be too self-conscious of, but that makes her feel powerful when it’s paired with the lipstick she saves for Vixen performances.

“A subtle knockout.” Veronica hums in approval from behind Betty in the mirror and reaches around to playfully tug the hem lower and expose more of Betty’s chest.

“Jeez, V, I’m not trying to flash the entire class,” Betty says as she adjusts the neckline. _Just one classmate in particular,_ she reminds herself.

As though she can read her thoughts, Veronica smirks at her reflection. “Go get ‘em, Betty.”

 

Despite her best “flaunting” efforts, Betty gains no more and no less attention from Jughead with her cleavage on display. He smiles and says hello when he swings into the seat next to her, elbows her a couple of times during the lecture to snark about their classmates, but then packs up and goes when the clock hits 10:40 with only small, two-fingered wave in her direction.

Their Tuesday afternoon class goes much the same way, Betty crossing and uncrossing her legs so much that she drives _herself_ nuts with the constant fidgeting, though it does successfully let the short denim hem ride higher up her thigh than is strictly appropriate for class—even if she is wearing fleece-lined tights to account for the weather. It pays off slightly in that, when Jughead leans over to double check a line of notes she wrote after their professor changed slides too quickly, his eyes drop to her legs and he’s struck with a sudden coughing fit.

Betty flushes with satisfaction in the moment, but it seems to have backfired by the time she sees him in class the next day. He takes his usual seat next to her, but his hello is on the nervous side and he doesn’t talk with her beyond that, even though they’ve both arrived to the classroom early. Suddenly self-conscious about the lace-trimmed camisole she’s wearing under a thick knit cardigan, Betty leaves her scarf on for the duration of class and grits her teeth for the entire 90 minutes in an effort to not let any tears build.

Maybe he’s put off by her overt attempts and has grouped her with the other girls who hit on him—the ones he wants nothing to do with. The prospect makes her heart sink and stomach clench, so for their final class together that week, Betty returns to her favorite jeans and a long-sleeved shirt printed with tiny pink stars.

She’s maybe still wearing her Vixens lipstick and a push-up bra. Jughead fails to notice either, but at least he strikes up conversation on their way out of the building by asking how that week’s edition of the paper is coming along. It’s the small victories, Betty tells herself.

 

As always, she’s grateful for most of the humanities courses not having Friday classes when she trudges into the dining hall after being in the newsroom until nearly 3am finishing the final edits with the editor-in-chief.

(Adam is a junior and very attractive in a wholesome, all-American kind of way that Betty would be into if she weren’t so hopelessly head over heels for Jughead. They have a strong rapport that makes their late nights bearable. At a Vixen party in the fall, after new staffing positions had been announced for the spring, they’d partnered up for a game of beer pong and Adam told her they make a great pair. “Super team,” he’d joked. “Editor-in-chief and assistant copyeditor. Maybe we should set up a pong table in the office for all our upcoming late nights.”

Betty could tell he’d been flirting with her and she returned the banter in kind, but ultimately dodged the kiss he went in for after walking her home that night.)

When she sees Jughead in a booth in the back, headphones on while he types away on his computer, Betty regrets her outfit of leggings and a soft, yet shapeless sweater, but marches toward him anyway.

“Do you mind some company?” She has to stifle a yawn while waiting for his response and she swears he suppresses a chuckle at her expense.

“All yours,” he says as he gestures to the empty seat across from him. He gives her a warm smile and returns to his computer while Betty downs her coffee and munches on dry cereal. The silence is comfortable and relaxing, and she’s grateful to not feel the pressure to make conversation nor the overwhelming urge to prove some nameless truth to him that might finally make him notice her. It feels more like their early study sessions from the fall and Betty wonders if maybe they’re destined to just be good friends.

He’s a positive presence in her life and Betty thinks she might prefer to keep that, over the potential fallout for her making a move.

She could get over her feelings for him. Probably. Eventually.

A lull in his methodical typing has her glancing up, catching Jughead watching her. When they lock eyes, Jughead clears his throat and quickly diverts his attention back to his laptop. Betty can see that the tips of his ears are a bit pink and thinks her cheeks may be the same. She allows a few more moments to pass before asking him what he’s working on.

“Oh,” he looks startled. “It’s not for a class, just a—uh—pet project of mine.”

Working on a personal writing endeavor, even among a full load of courses, _and_ his magazine commitments? He could not possibly be more attractive to her, Betty bemoans.

Jughead does seem hesitant enough that Betty decides not to press for details, knowing how personal writing can be. “Well,” she says, hoping he can read the sincerity in her voice, “I’d love to read it sometime if you’re willing to share.”

His rapid blinks of surprise are adorable. “Yeah, that—” his voice cracks and he pauses to clear it, going completely red. “It’d be nice to get extra eyes on it, especially yours.”

Betty’s heart swells with the knowledge that Jughead trusts her enough, respects her writing skills enough, to let her read it. Her stomach feels like its in her throat, sensing that maybe this is her moment, and she takes a sip of water to steady herself. What would she even say— _hey, while we’re talking personal things, I really like you and maybe we could hang out sometime in a non-platonic-classmates way?_

Before she can do anything, Reggie and Veronica appear seemingly out of nowhere, startling her so much that the sip of water goes down the wrong way and she starts coughing hard. Jughead moves to cross the table, but Reggie beats him to it, clapping Betty hard on the back. “Easy there, Cooper, don’t die on us.”

Once her lungs stop spasming and her face is red both from the coughing and from sheer embarrassment, she looks back to Jughead to see the warmth has drained from his eyes and he looks vaguely pained. Betty, desperate to reclaim some semblance of their moment, tries to meet his eye with no luck.

Veronica has a glint in her eye again, which makes Betty more apprehensive than appreciative for her help. “Jughead, move next to Betty, why don’t you? Reggie and I need to share psych notes.”

Jughead doesn't move for a moment, instead looking bewildered and turning to Reggie with a question on his face. He then stands up so fast that Betty’s coffee cup rattles on the rickety wooden table and hastily shuts his laptop before shoving things into his bag. “I was just leaving anyway,” he mumbles and then he’s gone.

Completely shell-shocked, Betty tracks his beanie as he weaves through tables to sprint away from her. She’s simply too tired to even attempt to hide the tears that start welling up and Veronica slides in next to her to rub her shoulder reassuringly.

“Sorry, B,” she whispers.  

Across the table and utterly oblivious, Reggie digs into his pancakes and says through a mouthful, “He’s so weird sometimes.”

He might be weird, Betty thinks sadly, but she likes how weird he is. Apparently too much.

 

On a last ditch effort, Betty texts Jughead while working on an assignment for their journalism class that evening. Nothing with a hidden motive, nothing Veronica would have crafted, but just a simple, Betty-like text, telling him that the assignment instructions are laughably bad for a journalist to have written.

 **_I see you’re enjoying your wild Friday night plans,_ **he texts back within a few moments.

(She tries to ignore the flutters at his quick response. It probably doesn’t mean anything.)

 **_Vixens performance at the game tomorrow,_ ** she answers. **_Controlling dance captains don’t take kindly to hungover dancers._ **

**_That certainly explains why Reggie is playing video games and drinking a foul-smelling protein shake instead of shit beer._ **

**_Your Friday sounds as wild as mine._ **

The interaction leaves more than a little to be desired but Betty is at a loss for how to move it forward without putting herself in the position to be flat-out rejected or ignored. When she taps out a follow up message, the Veronica-esque voice in her head warns about double texting. The real live Veronica is discretely breaking “no drinking the night before performances” rule with some other Vixens that live off campus and therefore cannot stop Betty from sending, **_Any chance you can be convinced to come cheer us on tomorrow?_ **

She follows it up with a haloed smiley face emoji, crossing her fingers it might convey the innocent hopefulness behind her ask. Triple text be damned.

**_I’m not one for school spirit, but I’ll think about it._ **

It’s better than nothing, Betty thinks. She knows it’s pathetic how much her heart soars at the potential for him to show up tomorrow, but it doesn’t stop her from falling asleep with a smile on her face.

 

The morning brings a team-wide email that today’s halftime performance would be in the fall uniforms. Betty reads it aloud in confusion as Veronica begins her very elaborate hair styling routine over water and painkillers.

“Oh right,” Veronica chirps. “The junior captain came out with us last night and I may have used the opportunity to convince _her_ to convince _Trula_ that we should wear the skirts today. Remind all the spectators how hot we are just before we have the Valentine’s charity fundraiser all of next week, yadda yadda. You’re welcome.”

Betty sips at her coffee. “I’m what?”

“Your legs look fantastic in that skirt and Reggie _may_ have texted last night that a certain grumpy raven-haired roommate of his asked what time the game was.”

The next sip of coffee goes down the wrong pipe and Betty splutters, her heart in her throat. There’s a more than decent chance that Jughead will come to the game. Because she asked him to. She hadn’t actually prepared for this scenario going in her favor.

In the mirror, Veronica is looking very satisfied with herself. She brandishes her curling iron with a wink. “Do you want the trademark Lodge curls for your trademark Cooper ponytail today?”

 

With a spectacularly curled ponytail tied tight by a sparkly blue scrunchie, her favorite red lip, bare legs under her cheer skirt, and the prospect of her crush coming to see her dance, Betty feels invincible when the Vixens enter the gym for warm-ups.

Veronica beelines toward Reggie on the three-point line, pulling Betty along by the elbow. Her flirtatious smile is dialed all the way up. “Do we look hot, or do we look hot?” Betty’s cheeks burn at Veronica’s bold confidence, part way between embarrassment and wistfulness that she could ever be comfortable enough to act similarly.

“Very hot,” Reggie grins. He swoops down to kiss Veronica on the cheek and then it’s her friend’s turn to go red. Something squeezes in Betty’s chest. “I especially appreciate the return of those skirts. _Damn,_ ladies.”

“I pulled some tequila-soaked strings with our junior captain so Bettykins here could look extra hot when that roommate of yours she’s crushing on shows up.”

Reggie’s smile falters and Betty feels her stomach drop to her toes. “He’s not coming, is he?”

The look of sympathy of Reggie’s face is so kind, so devoid of pity, that Betty could cry. Why couldn’t she have fallen for himand not Jughead? Why did she have to go head over heels for a guy whose signals are so mixed it makes her head spin?

“I’m sorry, Cooper. He said he was heading to the library when I left, so I don’t think he is.”

Veronica’s hand rubs her arm reassuringly. She leans into her ear to murmur, “He’s not worth it, B,” and then Betty doescry because despite all of this, everything she knows about Jughead tells her that he _is_ worth it. She makes it back to the locker room before crying in earnest, carefully tipping her head back so as not to let her eyeliner and mascara run. It was silly to get her hopes up, she knows; they’re classmates and casual acquaintances and Jughead doesn’t owe her anything, even if that reality hurts Betty more than she’d care to admit.

But it is what it is and Betty tells herself it’s fine, she’ll be fine. She’s fine when Veronica comes to find her before tip-off and she’s fixing her lipstick in the mirror; she’s fine when the loud beat of Ariana Grande pumps through the stadium speakers and Betty spins her hips to dance front and center from her spot in formation; she’s fine when the game is over and Reggie jogs over to accept Veronica’s congratulatory makeout; Betty is capital-F fine when she accepts Veronica’s girls night in plan and slips into her yoga pants and drinks four stolen-dining-hall-cups of boxed white wine while watching Legally Blonde.

“I’m _fine,_ Veronica,” Betty groans when she received a pointed look during one of Elle’s post-breakup scenes.

“I’m just saying,” Veronica says lightly, “if it were me, I’d also be several glasses of wine in but would still be crying.”

Betty does want to cry, but she wants to drink her shitty wine and watch Elle Woods kick ass more. Or at least, she did before the fourth cup of wine. With that fourth cup, she went from happily warm and fuzzy to well on her way to drunk; she wants to do something empowering and drastic, though she knows anything fueled by cheap wine and occurring in a freshman dorm is not anything Elle Woods-approved.

Her ego is bruised, she’s hurt, and Betty’s pinot-soaked brain starts to concoct grandiose scenarios where she texts Jughead to give him a piece of her mind or shows up at his dorm door to kiss his face off or—what she really wants—Jughead shows up at _her_ door to sweep her off her feet. But none of that is likely to happen.

Except the texting him a piece of her mind part. _That,_ she can accomplish.

“Oh no you don’t!” Veronica lunges from her bed to wrestle Betty’s phone away before she even has a chance to unlock it. At Betty’s attempted look of innocence, Veronica raises an eyebrow. “Don’t start with me, I know you were about to text him. There will be no drunk-texting of crushes under my watch.”

Betty swallows another sip of wine and pouts.

 

Later on, with several more cups of wine and two vodka shots between them, Veronica’s singing a different tune. The movie’s ended and they both kept drinking, playing a half-hearted game of drunk Uno until Betty’s friend from the paper texts her.

“Sabrina says a bunch of people are hanging in their dorm if we want to join. Oh! Uno!”

Veronica triumphantly slaps down a plus-four card and giggles before finishing her cup. “Sabrina’s the tiny platinum blonde, right? I think I have psych with her.” Betty nods. “Wait. _Wait. Betty.”_

Betty looks up from where she’s inspecting her hand of cards to see a diabolical look on her roommate’s face.

“Sabrina lives in Elm Hall, right? The same Elm Hall where Reggie and Jughead also live?” When Betty confirms that fact, Veronica pours the vodka shots—taking both of them herself when Betty chooses to stick to her wine—and starts rifling through her wardrobe. “We’re going on a seduction mission, Betty. Start getting dressed.”

Eyeliner is decidedly more difficult without a steady hand, so after screwing up twice and marveling at how well Veronica put on a full face of makeup while drunk and already in heels, Betty sticks to mascara and her Vixens lipstick. The cold air feels good on her face and brings Betty somewhat back to earth, even if she’s still happily trailing behind Veronica to maybe-maybe-not visit her crush under the guise of attending a dorm party. Sabrina meets them at the door with a delighted shriek, pulling them down the hall toward the thumping bass and muted shouts. As they rush toward the party, Betty spies the colorful cut-outs on all the doors listing the occupants names and sees something unintelligible scrawled on one next to the block letters of REGINALD.

After watching Veronica win two rounds of pong and getting one beer spilled on her shoes, Betty’s energy wears off and the wine gives way to logic. The corner dorm room is crowded, the only two people she knows are talking with other people, and Betty desperately wants to be back in her pajamas. She slips into the hallway and makes her way to the water fountain. After a long drink, she straightens up to pull out her phone while wiping some of the spilled water from her face in a distinctly ungraceful manner.

Naturally, the person that popped up in her periphery while doing so is both the first and last person Betty wants to see right now.

“Jughead!” In her surprise, Betty practically launches her phone down the hall and scrambles to pick it up. Her head feels very clear now, but her body hasn’t caught up to being more sober than before and she knows she must look sloppy as hell. “What are you doing here?”

Jughead fixes her with a look she can’t quite place but that makes her feel two feet tall. He gestures with his empty water bottle and then points to the flannel pants he’s sporting. “I live here. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Oh,” she feels her face burning. “Right. I’m bailing on a party and evidently making a fool of myself. I’ll just be going now.”

As she moves down the hall, Betty hears Jughead mumble something and sigh. “Betty, wait, no, come on. Let me get you a cup for water or something and then I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

The gesture should be—is—sweet and possibly indicative of something positive. But Betty is tired and more than a little embarrassed and _definitely_ still a little drunk, and she doesn’t want Jughead’s pity. She spins on her heel to face him. “Such enthusiasm _,_ ” she scoffs, “Please don’t do me any favors, Jughead. You don’t have to take care of the drunk girl you know from class just because she’s in your hallway.”

If she weren’t so upset, the confusion flickering across his face would be adorable. “Well, first of all, trust me when I say if I took care of every drunk girl in my hallway, I’d never get to sleep again. But you’re my friend and I want to make sure you get back okay.”

Damn him for being so fucking _nice._ And damn her for drinking too much wine because it’s making her feel feisty and, beneath the gilded drunken thoughts, Betty is still hurt. It’s not fair and she wants him to know exactly how it feels to be let down by someone you thought you had a connection with. “ _Friends_ show up to events to be supportive, Jughead. They don’t act cagey half the time they hang out with you. Friends are willing to strike up conversation instead of always waiting for the chatty one to talk or text first. So no, Jughead, I don’t think we are friends. And I can walk my own damn self home.”

With angry tears welled up in her eyes and walking as steadily as her wobbly legs will allow, Betty leaves a gaping Jughead behind in the hallway.

 

The headache Betty wakes up with is more of a crying hangover than a wine hangover (she always heeds Polly’s advice of drinking water and taking ibuprofen before falling asleep and it’s a handy trick), and it’s mixed with sheer mortification.

She yelled at Jughead. She drunkenly yelled at the boy she likes and told him they weren’t friends.

What the _hell_ was she thinking?

“You weren'tthinking,” Veronica says, not unkindly, over orange juice and copious amounts of breakfast potatoes. “Wine brain is a bitch. But look at it this way, all your cards are on the table. It’s his move now.”

Betty angrily stabs at her potatoes. “It’s always been his move, V. I know I’m not exactly subtle about how much I like him and he’s clearly ignoring that.”

“Boys are pretty obtuse, B. Maybe he really didn’t know. But either way, he’s treated you like crap about it and has been a lousy quote-unquote friend. It might be better this way.”

“It’s still embarrassing,” she mutters.

“What’s embarrassing?” Reggie appears out of nowhere, as is his habit it would seem, and swipes some of Veronica’s untouched bagel. (She’d taken one bite and gone, “Oh, nope. Nope, cream cheese after vodka is not happening.”)

Betty goes red and mumbles what happened into her juice, rather than meeting Reggie’s eyes.

“That certainly explains why he was grumpier than usual when I got home last night.” Reggie rolls his eyes. “We all do dumb shit when we’re drunk. Don’t beat yourself up, Cooper. He’ll get over himself soon enough. And if he doesn’t, I’ll set you up with someone on the team if you want. Trev Brown has mentioned he thinks you’re cute.”

That doesn’t make Betty feel any better.

 

The prospect of having to sit next to Jughead for an hour and a half in their Monday morning class is so horrifying that Betty willingly skips her first class. Ever. It’s pathetic and petty but she just can’t bring herself to face him. Instead she emails Professor Anderson that she has a migraine and will get the lecture notes from a classmate. She spends the time getting ahead on the week’s readings.

Her mood before their shared Tuesday class isn’t much better but Betty is still a Cooper with a perfection complex, and she won’t skip class unnecessarily twice in one week. She waits out the pre-class rush in the girls bathroom on the main floor of the liberal arts building and then walks into class approximately four minutes late. Her usual seat next to Jughead is taken by the guy who always walks in as the lecture is starting, as she had hoped, so she apologizes to the professor and dodges Jughead’s confused look as she takes a seat in the back corner. Feeling both childish and triumphant, Betty does her best to focus on the lecture instead of Jughead’s hat in her peripheral.

Unless she’s mistaken, he turns back to glance in her direction at least six times during the two hours.

 

 **_Are you avoiding me?_ ** 

Betty sees the text pop up when she’s sitting at the Vixens fundraiser table in the student center and a perverse thrill runs up her spine. He’s noticed at least.

 _Yes,_ she wants to send back. _Yes because I like you so much it’s absurd and you don’t like me back and I don’t want to be reminded of your rejection every single time I’m in class._

The message goes unanswered.

 

Her breaking point comes when she’s in the library Thursday afternoon working on her response paper for English Lit and she needs to run her thesis by someone who knows the course content. Jughead is the only person in class whose number she has and Betty refuses to break her cold shoulder.

Out of patience with herself, Betty knocks her head against the anthology on the table a few times. She’s being ridiculous, and she knows. She wants to text him, needs to text him about this damn assignment. And at the same time, Betty _misses_ him.

As her mind hits that thought, Betty bursts into tears. It’s not the first time she’s cried in the library and it certainly won’t be the last, but this is the first time she’s crying about a boy. Beneath her sadness and frustration, Betty almost wants to kick herself. This is an absurd problem to be losing her mind over. So what if her crush doesn’t like her back? So what if she made a fool of herself? Who _cares._

“I’ve decided I don’t care anymore,” Betty announces to Veronica when she meets her for their fundraiser table shift that evening. “I will dress up for the Valentine’s mixer and go without a date and have a great time, and maybe I will find someone else.”

Veronica looks up in mild shock from where she’s straightening out the banner.

(It’s hot pink with lots of glitter and VIXENS AGAINST HEART DISEASE in silver. It’s not exactly the most eye-catching messaging, but it’s a worthy cause so Betty bit her tongue. Theoretically, the eye-catching aspect is supposed to be the Vixens themselves. In their tight, red, Valentine’s-themed tank tops. Like she’d worn at her shift earlier that week, Betty’s is under a cardigan and over a sports bra. Veronica’s is over a visible black lace bralette. Once again, she admires her friend’s confidence.)

“I like this change of mood, B, don’t get me wrong. But are you sure you want to do that? It’s only been a few days and I know this thing with Jughead is more than a passing crush.”

Betty shrugs off her sweater and undoes her ponytail, fluffing her hair in the process. “Very damn sure.”

 

The basketball team has an away game Saturday morning, so the Vixens get the day off. Veronica is somewhat put out because Reggie won’t be back on campus until the end of the mixer, if not after, but that hasn’t stopped her from emptying both hers and Betty’s wardrobes on their beds to craft outfits.

“You’d look smoking in all red, Betty. I thought you wanted to go all devil may care for this? Why are we sticking to virginal and angelic?”

Betty rolls her eyes. The theme for the Valentine's party is _devils and angels_ and while wearing all white seems like it’s only asking neon drinks to be spilled on her, Betty wants to lean into her existing personality for this. “Because I _am_ a virginal goody two shoes, despite all your seduction tactics, Ronnie. I don’t want to be someone I’m not, I want to be myself. But myself who’s let loose.” The explanation seems to satisfy Veronica, despite her pursed lips. “Plus,” Betty singsongs as she digs into the back of her dresser. “I stole this top from Polly when I was home and it’s perfect.”

The top in question is white and just on the right side of sheer, with a modest v-neck and a not-so-modest deep v-cutout in the back. When Betty pairs it with a borrowed lace bralette from Veronica, white jeans, and her favorite pair of heeled booties, she feels invincible. Betty feels lighter and happier than she has in weeks when she and Veronica spend twenty minutes finding the perfect selfie angles and making mixed drinks to carry across campus to the hosting Vixens’ suite. Her phone stays on silent in her coat pocket and she vows to only check it if she loses Veronica during the course of the party.

Fully letting loose comes in the form of blushing and flirting when guys compliment her, playing flip cup with her vodka soda, and dancing in the center of the room in a tight circle of all the freshman Vixens. She’s unsteady in her heels when Veronica loops her arm through hers and drags her into the line to the bathroom.

“Reggie texted that he’s back from the game and coming over soon,” she whispers excitedly. “I need your help for outfit and makeup checks.”

The genuine giddiness on Veronica’s face gives Betty a slight pang of jealousy, but she swallows it down with more of her drink. “I’m so happy you’re so happy, V. He seems like such a good guy and I can tell he likes you a lot.”

The bathroom lighting is harsh and highlights the flush across Betty’s chest and both of their smudged eyeliner. Betty helps Veronica clean up hers—leaving her own because she can’t be bothered, she’s not trying to impress anyone anymore—and re-clips the devil's horn barrettes in Veronica’s curls. They make an even more disparate pair in the mirror, Betty’s white against Veronica’s sultry red dress but she couldn’t be more grateful for her friend in that moment.

“Knock ‘em dead, V.”

Betty lags behind in the bathroom for a moment to finish her drink and refill the cup with water from sink. She knows she’s probably too drunk to keep going at the same pace and doesn’t quite trust herself to not pull out her phone and text Jughead without Veronica’s supervision. Weaving through the crowd, a mess of sweaty bodies in red and white, and other colors now that more of the campus has caught onto the party but ignored the theme, Betty locates her coat and stays in the corner for a moment to catch her breath.

As she sips at her water, Betty answers a text from Polly about potential bridesmaid dress colors, checks the comments on the photo she’d posted of her and Veronica before they’d left, and scrolls through more of Instagram. When the cup is empty, Betty still feels wobbly, but a bit better and dodges more people to make her way into the kitchenette for another cup of water. There’s a line for the keg and punch bowl and she’s just debating the pros and cons of trying cut through when something in the corner of her eye catches her off guard.

It’s a gray hat, pointed edges, bobbing through the crowd and heading in her general direction.

There’s no way, Betty tells herself. She’s just drunk and probably mistaking it for someone else’s winter hat. Even so, she busies herself with her phone and discretely keeps on the lookout. She doesn’t _not_ want to see Jughead, but she is also afraid of what she’d even say if it were him. And it’s probably not. There’s no way he’d come to one of these parties willingly.

Except that he has.

Betty flushes when she sees the hat beeline to her and that the face attached to it is, in fact, Jughead. Whether from the heat of the crowded suite, or from his own discomfort, Jughead’s ears are red when he lands in front of her. He has to shout over the music but Betty hears him clear as day when he asks if they can talk.

Too dumbfounded to form words, all Betty can do is nod.

“Somewhere quieter?” he shout-asks. Again, she nods. Her coat is already in her arms, so then Jughead is putting his hand on her back to gently guide her to the door. His palm is warm on the bare skin and she can feel her entire body flush. Betty isn’t quite sure if she wants to bolt or to press her hand over his and keep it there until she’ll be able to feel the ghost of his touch forever.

The party has spilled into the hallway and Jughead propels them to the stairwell door. When Betty pulls it open, a pair of party-goers in red are pressed against the wall with hands in sensitive places and completely unaware of their intrusion.

“Oh, Christ,” Jughead mumbles and they back up.

“The other stairs?” Betty hears herself suggest. They cross the hallway and find no amorous partners in the other stairwell. The door closes and a muted silence settles in Betty’s ears. Now that it’s quiet and she’s not feeling the vodka as strongly, her feet are beginning to hurt and she situates herself on the top step. She leaves enough space for Jughead next to her but makes no indication for him to follow.

As she tugs off her boots, she can practically hear him thinking from behind her.

“Oh, god, Jug just sit down. It’s fine. I’m not going to bite.” The _un_ _less you want me to dies_  on her tongue. Maybe she is still drunk. Betty wants him to want that, so badly.

He heaves a sigh as he settles in near her, leaving about two feet of space between them on the linoleum step. “So I ran into your roommate yesterday.” That captures Betty’s attention; Veronica hadn’t sad anything about seeing Jughead, hadn’t even mentioned him the entire week except the one conversation Betty initiated herself.

Jughead keeps talking. “Or, more accurately, she ran into me. At my door. Looking for Reggie. Because I guess they’re dating or something. _Something_ being their tongues in each other’s mouths before I got the hell out of dodge. But before I was scarred for life by that, she said something to me. About you. And how I was an idiot for leading you on. Which made zero sense to me until I sat on that for a couple hours and realized I was an absolute idiot.” At this admission, Betty turns to look at him, expectant, hopeful. “I, uh,” he continues. “I had thought that you and Reggie were a thing, for lack of a better word. I knew you’d met at a party last semester and I kind of leapt to conclusions.”

The gears turn in Betty’s head. “So let me get this straight,” she says, sitting up and glaring at him. “You ran hot and cold and weird on me for months because you thought I was  _maybe_  sleeping with another guy? Do you have any idea how much of an asshole that makes you?”

“I know, I know,” Jughead stammers. “I swear that’s not what it was. I was trying to avoid being a dick to a girl I liked just because she was with someone else. Reggie never clarified anything and I was so afraid of being a shitty friend to both of you about it that I just ...short-circuited, I guess. And clearly I screwed that up big time because I was too big a moron to notice Reggie’s thing was with Veronica and not you, and you’re rightfully pissed at me.”

Betty blinks. The red at the tips of his ears has crawled all the way down his neck and Jughead is staring determinedly at the dirt on his shoes. Next to his feet, Betty’s socks have little blue stars on a navy background. She opens her mouth to say something, but after another deep breath, Jughead keeps going. Betty doesn’t think she’s ever heard him talk this much in one go.

“So I wanted to come find you and apologize but I knew you were avoiding me and Reggie mentioned this party and here I am. Except you’re all dressed up—” he breaks to gesture vaguely at her, voice a little strangled “—and looking unfairly hot and now I feel like an even bigger asshole for being focused on that instead of on apologizing. But I was nervous and had a couple of Reggie’s shitty beers to make myself not fucking terrified of doing this and apparently buzzed me is equally, if not more, distracted by how beautiful you are than sober me is and—”

This time he stops talking because Betty leans forward to shut him up with her mouth. Her lipstick has already worn off and she probably tastes like vodka and maybe this isn’t what Jughead was aiming for with this conversation, but here they are. His lips are soft against hers and with a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, he closes the distance between them to grasp at her hips and kiss her harder. Betty’s head is a confusing, beautiful swirl of _ohmygod this is finally happening_ and the heat of Jughead’s hands through the thin fabric of her shirt and the uninhibited need running through her body.

As though her body has disconnected from her mind, Betty runs her fingers through the rogue curl of hair on Jughead’s forehead and then knocks his beanie off to feel more of his unfairly soft hair. At the sensation, Jughead sighs into the kiss and then her mouth is open, letting his tongue run across her bottom lip, and he surges closer to press her against the wall. Betty is floating on cloud nine, ten, eleven, at his hand cradling her face but then crashes down with a squeak when his overzealous movement has him crushing her unprotected toes underfoot.

“Fuck, I hurt you,” Jughead immediately draws back to pull her foot into his lap, cupping it in his hands but looking confused and unsure of how to ameliorate the situation. His breathing is labored from their kiss, hair askew and flannel more rumpled than usual from her hands, and it makes Betty want to climb into his lap and kiss him again until neither of them can breathe.

But. Between the heels and the accidental squashing, her feet really do hurt.

“It’s okay.” Betty whispers it, nodding to indicate her toes, but meeting Jughead’s eye to ensure he knows that she means for all of it.

His answer is to swoop down and meet her in a bruising kiss that has her stomach alight with butterflies. This one gets a bit more out of control; her legs are in his lap, his hand slides underneath the sheer material of her shirt and to rub circles on her lower back, and Betty truly may have let things go several steps further if she hadn’t knocked her empty water cup over. The clatter of plastic breaks their moment for the second time and they both acknowledge their surroundings.

“We’re kind of drunk,” Jughead sighs.

“I know.” His eyes are a brilliant blue, fixed directly on her, and Betty never wants to stop staring into them. She toys with his curls again. “I really, _really_ wish we weren’t.”

Jughead tugs her further into his lap, but only to press his lips to the top of her head. “Want to wait it out at Pop’s?”

Looking up in confusion, Betty asks, “What’s Pop’s?”

“Oh Betty, you have _no_ idea.”

 

Pop’s, as it turns out, is the 24-hour diner a few blocks off campus. Betty files this away for her next late night french fry craving, but is mostly delighted in that it allows her to sit comfortably under Jughead’s arm in a corner booth and sip on an out-of-this-world chocolate shake while he waits on his burger.

“This is amazing.” Betty sighs happily and burrows further into Jughead’s embrace. Now that they’ve crossed this bridge, it’s all she can do to stop touching him. Yes, she for sure wants his mouth on her neck and maybe their hands at each other’s zippers, but Betty relishes in the simple satisfaction of their fingers laced together at her shoulder.

Jughead appears to feel the same. Betty never would have pegged him for a touchy-feely guy, but he continues to lean in and whisper in her ear despite the relative quiet of the diner. “Amazing,” he agrees, nuzzling at her neck and ghosting his lips in the hollow under her ear. “I can’t believe we wasted so much time not doing this.”

Betty giggles. “I more meant the shake and the diner, but yes. That too.”

He gasps in mock offense and feigns shoving her out of his grip to get up. “How dare you, Betty Cooper.”

With a smacking kiss on his cheek, and the delivery of his burger, Betty separates just enough to let him gain elbow room. “Don’t worry,” she sips on her shake and blinks innocently at him over the whipped cream. “I’ll make it up to you.”

 

Her head thuds against the door within a second of Betty pressing in the keycode and Jughead spinning her into the dark of her room. “You’re sure,” he mumbles, mouth preoccupied with kissing down the column of her throat, “sure you’re not drunk anymore?”

Betty’s own hands are busy unbuttoning Jughead’s flannel and running across his surprisingly muscled back. “Z-Y-X-W-V-U—I can keep going, walk a straight line, whatever you want.” Her gasp echoes into the silence at the gentle nip of his teeth at her collarbone. “Just please keep kissing me.”

He does.

They kiss and walk backwards blindly until Betty feels her toes hit the rug by her bed, then her knees buckle at the edge of the mattress, then she and Jughead are tumbling over onto her blankets. Betty fumbles around for the switch on her bedside lamp and they’re bathed in a soft glow. Jughead’s thumb is running delicately under the band of her bra and her own hand is still tangled in his hair. He’s looking down at her with something akin to reverence, so gentle in its sincerity that Betty has never felt so _seen._

“I, um.” Even at a whisper, her voice feels too loud, like it could burst this bubble and they’ll never recapture this moment of sheer happiness. Betty swallows hard and her nerves take over.

“Betty, you’re shaking.” Jughead’s voice is just as soft, just as loud in the silence. “Is everything okay? Do you want to stop?”

“No, _no!”_ The idea of stopping is gut-wrenching. “I just—I haven’t—haven’t _done_ anything before.” From all she knows of him, Betty can’t imagine this revelation is going to change anything about what they’re both feeling, but it feels good to say it out loud, to trust him enough to say it and to maybe let him change that fact.

Jughead huffs out a combined sort of laugh-sigh. “God, Betty, that’s fine—me neither. We can keep going or stop and turn the lights on and watch cartoons or go to the fucking moon, I don’t care. Whatever you want to do is fine. As long as we’re doing it together, I’m happy.” Too overcome with emotion, Betty pulls him down to her again, letting the warmth of his chest settle her while she kisses the skin at his collar, up to his jaw, his cheek, then his mouth.

“You make me so happy, Jughead.” They kiss languidly until baser instincts start to take over and Betty hears a noise she realizes is her own whine deep at the back of her throat.

With his fingers trailing lightly under her bra and his mouth back on her neck, Jughead murmurs, “Let me make you feel good, Betts.”

“ _God,_ yes.”

The heady silence gives way to their heavy breathing and then Betty’s hitched gasps when his hands move carefully across her skin and then she feels it. She feels good, nothing but good, and then _everything_ is good and Betty can’t remember ever feeling so wonderful.

 

Something loud and unwelcome jolts Betty out of a comfortable sleep. As she slowly gains awareness, she realizes the soft shirt she’s wearing is Jughead’s from the night before and that she’s so comfortable because he’s under the blankets with her. His arm is slung over her hips, face muffled by her hair when he grumbles at the noise.

“ _Told you,_ Reggie.”

Veronica’s smug voice cuts through the sleepy silence of the morning but Betty can’t bring herself to care. Jughead seems to be in the same boat. From behind her, she can feel him rooting around for his discarded flannel and then half-heartedly chucking it in the direction of their respective roommates.

“Yeah, yeah, we finally got over ourselves. Please go away now.”

When the door closes, Betty giggles and turns in the embrace to look at Jughead. Once again, the look in his eyes takes her breath away.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hey, yourself.”  

Betty kisses him lightly—wary of her own morning breath more than anything else, but unable to resist. “So, how is Pop’s breakfast food?”

Laughing, Jughead rolls into her and kisses her more thoroughly. “Focusing on food over being walked in on by our roommates? Girl after my own heart.”  

.

.

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 _fin_   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait! thank you so much for reading and as always, please leave some love below if you feel so inclined!

**Author's Note:**

> pretty pretty please drop me a comment!


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